


Three Crests, Two Hearts

by heghlumeH



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, F/M, characters will be tagged as they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26991292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heghlumeH/pseuds/heghlumeH
Summary: In an attempt to forge the perfect weapon, Edelgard receives a third crest, and with it, her psyche is erased.Rather than suppressing his emotions, the Crest Stone that sits in Byleth's chest augments his heart, and the mercenary lives his life with the sensations of two.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg & Hubert von Vestra, My Unit | Byleth & Sothis
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. The Men with Knives and Needles

In a nameless place, the progeny of Emperor Ionius scream.

The men with knives and needles have but one shy of a dozen subjects upon which to ply their trade. Thanks to Ordelia, they know their endeavours shall bear fruit. Most of the subjects will simply expire. Their feeble bodies unable to bear the strain of the gift they will receive. Like matches in a book, one by one they are plucked, set alight, and when naught but a charred, useless husk remains, they are discarded.

One of the smallest sits in her shackles, and can only watch as the lights go out. When the fire is brought to her, it burns unending. The men with knives and needles are unsurprised (for it was expected that only one already bearing a crest might survive the endeavour), ecstatic, and inspired. The process had been greatly refined since Ordelia. The child that now bears the mark of both the Saint and the Goddess will live a half, yet much fuller life than their first attempt. But she really needn't. A weapon with that much time is liable to turn it's power against those who hold its chain. Another crest, then. She need not be a sword with a mind of its own. She could be as one of their missiles: Fired once, they fly unerringly towards their target, unable to alter their trajectory, and obliterating themselves in the process.

Shackled as she is, the last child of Hresvelg stews in her despair, and yet already within her mind are seeds that would in time grow into a resolve that could upend the foundations of Fodlan. But these are seeds nurtured by the warmth of a gift she despises and the hatred thereof. The Crest of Flames burns strongly, fanned by that of Seiros. When the men return with more knives and more needles, her terror is softened ever so slightly by the relief that comes in that at least now, the rats she so fears have fled. When the men leave, they leave behind more kindling for the Flames.

The Flames, now fed by both the Saint and the Beast, do not warm those seeds but consume them. The men with knives and needles who wear the skins of people and slither in the dark are ecstatic. One crest would be a rarity. Two crests are unheard of. Three crests are insanity, and in the fires of her triumvirate of crests, burned away are her memory and sensations and drive. Left behind is a coldly unfeeling girl, a quietly obedient servant, and the most powerful weapon ever created.

The Edelgard von Hresvelg who cried as her brothers and sisters died when her second crest was awoken. The Edelgard who could care was extinguished when her third came into being. Not even the rats frighten her anymore; It's not a sensation she's even able to experience now.

* * *

Hubert von Vestra did not know what serving Lady Edelgard would be like, at first. He had been told that above all else, his loyalty was to her, but little else. Was Lady Edelgard perhaps quite a demanding one? Would she desire his friendship, or perhaps just his obedience? Would she forgive him when he erred, or would his loyalty be driven in part by fear of reprisals for failure?   
From the small, brown-haired, sprightly young princess he learned that he had perhaps worried too much. Demanding, certainly, as the various roles he was forced to play in make-believe could attest to, but the service Lady Edelgard demanded of him was much more akin to playmate than retainer. As for failure...

Hubert von Vestra had failed Lady Edelgard once. Precisely and exactly once.

When Lady Edelgard vanished, it took him just one day to ascertain her location. It took just another to prepare. It took 3 days for his father's men to find him. He had not been about to let anyone stop him. He fought tooth and nail, and would have done so to the death, but youthful vigor ultimately proved to be of little help when outnumbered by armed soldiers. When he is brought home, his father keeps him under a much closer eye. Hubert tries a few more times over the few years that follow, but no efforts are nearly as successful as the first.

As the years pass, Hubert busies himself with his scholastic studies in public, and much more discrete studies of Adrestrian politics in private. The "Insurrection of the Seven," as they are now calling it, is at the centre of his focus. Though he harbours no love for Duke Aegir or Marquess Vestra (as Hubert now insists upon referring to him as), he examines them and their ilk extensively so as to better know his enemy. For four long years, Hubert is driven by only the hope that when Lady Edelgard returns, that he can go to her armed with the knowledge that will make her invulnerable. For four long years, Hubert von Vestra attempts to be loyal to that one girl that is his life's purpose, yet markedly absent from it. For four long years Hubert von Vestra is left to ponder his failure.

It is an inauspicious day in the Blue Sea Moon of 1175 when he hears of Lady Edelgard, and only Lady Edelgard's return. Though he is perplexed by the absence of his Lady's numerous siblings, they are not of concern to Hubert von Vestra. Though he is barred from seeing her the moment he hears the news, he is undeterred. Ultimately, as her loyal servant, he becomes among the first to welcome Lady Edelgard back to Enbarr, though he does so in her room and not, as he had hoped, as she disembarked her carriage. Having sprinted his way through the immense Palace, Hubert arrives at Lady Edelgard's room out of breath. He braces himself in front of her doors, 4 years of thoughts swirling about in his head. Doing his best to push all but an apology for his extended absence out of his head, and only partially succeeding, he catches his breath, and steps inside. 

The girl that stands in the centre of Lady Edelgard's room is not Lady Edelgard. In place of brown pigtails is a length of silvery-white hair, where once an excitable mischievousness danced in her eyes he sees only a pair of glassy orbs staring blankly at the wallpaper, and a body that once threatened to smother him in a fidgety, apparently boundless energy now stands unmovingly still.

All the apologies and questions and promises he had planned to give and ask and make fail to leave his tongue as those thoughts vanish from his mind. In their place, he can only just barely formulate her name, inflected by doubt.

"Lady Edelgard?"

The stranger girl who wore Lady Edelgard's face simply stands there, and Hubert thinks at first that perhaps she did not hear him. After a moment though, her eyebrows come together in the tiniest question.

"Edelgard?" the girl parrots, as though the name itself confused her. Still too stunned to speak, the return of her eyebrows to an default neutral comes with an apparent realization. "Oh, right. That's me. Yes, I'm Edelgard."

Desperate, Hubert accepts the testimony as fact. Turning her head to face him, it was apparently Edelgard's turn to ask a question.

"Who are you?"

Hubert felt as though a dense mass had suddenly formed deep inside him, drawing his heart into gravity. Of all the mysteries that he had uncovered today, this seemed the most likely to kill him. Desperation brought volume to Hubert's reply. 

"Lady Edelgard, it's me! Hubert! Your friend!"

He had meant to say loyal retainer or some variation thereof, but there was very little about this day that had been going as Hubert envisioned. He looked to Lady Edelgard's face with hope for some kind of recognition, but the girl that stared back at him remained glassy-eyed. As his eyes looked into hers, he found nothing. No sign that she remembered Hubert von Vestra, her loyal servant. No sign that she remembered Hubert von Vestra, whom she made play the damsel in distress when it was her turn to play the role of the valiant knight. No sign that she remembered Hubert von Vestra, who helped her pilfer pies from the kitchens to satiate her massive sweet tooth. Only a blank, unknowing stare.

Though his own despair threatened to shatter his heart and break his mind, Hubert von Vestra remained ever resolved to remain at his Lady Edelgard's side, regardless of how she had changed. Even if her hair turned white. Even if snow seemed to melt in an area around her. Even if the girl he knew to be a (his dear) bossy little troublemaker was now content to idly sit and only act when instructed to do so. Even if she never seemed to express a preference or desire of her own. Even if the hug he gave her when he ran out of ideas to trigger a memory only served to change her object of disinterested gazing from the wall to his chest. Even if she had forgotten all about him.

All of this stemmed from him. All of this could have been avoided if Hubert von Vestra had succeeded, if he had been a better servant, if his competence reflected his drive.

Hubert von Vestra had failed Lady Edelgard once. Precisely and exactly once. 

Hubert von Vestra will never fail Lady Edelgard again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm new to this, so please forgive any mistakes.  
> I tried to write it in a historical present tense, at least for this chapter, but I think I was inconsistent at points, so my apologies if it took you out of it.  
> I know I put him in the description but I feel like I shouldn't tag him until he actually shows up.  
> I hope you found this intriguing.  
> Thanks for reading.


	2. Sauin Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Responsibility is delegated upon Byleth.

They call it Arrhythmia if the town's a bit nicer and the doctor more learned, but otherwise it's declared to just be an "unusual" or "strange" heartbeat by the doctors (or what passes for one) in the smaller villages. It's become something of a habit for Jeralt to tack onto his asking price a request for the local physician to have a look at his son. Scores of healers of wildly differing backgrounds and expertise have had a look over Byleth and as far as any of them could tell, the young boy was perfectly healthy. A happy young boy who seldom cried, laughed at nothing, switched between moods at a moment's notice, spoke with the air, learned incredibly quickly, and had just a slightly irregular pattern to his heart's rhythm. Nothing to worry about at all.  
  
In truth, there probably wasn't anything that Jeralt needed to concern himself with. After all, every child had their own peculiarities. Imaginary friends weren't all that uncommon, surely, and it wouldn't be too strange if his boy was just a quieter sort, right? He used to fret over Sitri's health, and since her passing, perhaps he had transposed onto Byleth his concerns. As a way to keep away from the Archbishop's unsettling gaze, this mercenary lifestyle was perfect, but if potentially freeing Byleth from whatever schemes the Archbishop had concocted was meant to provide his son with a normal life than this probably only barely qualified. Byleth, however, never voiced complaint. Byleth never voiced a complaint to Jeralt, at anyrate. Byleth seemed more than willing to contradict his apparently omnipresent friend, though only when he thought no-one was listening. 

Nothing to worry about at all.

* * *

His father had delegated the duty of handling the pushy, orange-haired girl onto Byleth. He didn't know why. He didn't feel as though he was much better suited to the task than his father would've been. Byleth had never taught anyone anything, and even if Jeralt had no experience whatsoever before, then he had at least the experience of teaching him. Eyeing the girl, he realized that she couldn't have been much younger than himself. Or at least, he thinks she couldn't probably be much younger. Perhaps that was it? His particular "issues" aside, the mercenary lifestyle meant that it was rare they stayed in any one place for long, and there had never been much in the way of kids his age for most his life. Maybe this was some attempt to help him make a friend, or at least, a chance to socialize? 

"It's because he intends to while the rest of the day away in drink," interrupted the Throne Girl, Byleth's ever present imaginary friend-cum-mother figure.

"It's because he intends to while the rest of the day away in drink," Byleth subsequently declared, aloud, to the orange haired girl's shock. Too late does he realize that he had just inadvertently given quite a rude response to the girl's earlier question of "Why isn't Jeralt here? I wanted him to make me his apprentice." However, before he can ask for her forgiveness, he is once again cut off by the Throne Girl.

"You weren't supposed to say that out loud!" she cried, snapping Byleth to rapt attention, allowing him to growing acutely aware of the ire that the girl's face communicated so unambiguously. 

"I wasn't supposed to say that out loud!" Byleth almost shouted, once again, aloud, the sharp, admonishing tone of his voice failing to match the apologetic expression painted across his eyes and brow. 

The girl's former expression of indignation had been replaced with one of bewilderment, which Byleth took to be a good sign. Or at least as not-as-bad-as-it-could-have-been sign. A sign that he should try to continue, anyways. 

"Uh, what I meant to say is that Captain Jeralt is very busy, but I am available to teach you some of the basics."

"And who, exactly, are you?"

"Oh, I'm Byleth, Jeralt's son. Nice to meet you."

Byleth extended his hand and tried to give the girl his friendliest smile, but combined with the throne girl's frustration, the expression he actually managed to articulate is more of a strange grimace. Fortunately, the girl doesn't seem too offended by the display, though he noted that she shakes his hand while wearing a look of mild concern. 

"Leonie. Leonie Pinelli."

Unfortunately for Leonie Pinelli, her ability did not yet match her enthusiasm. Having never taught in his life, and not knowing what else to do, Byleth had suggested that they spar to gauge her skill level. That was the intent, but evidently Leonie had got it into her head somehow that if she could just beat Jeralt's son in a fight, then that would force Jeralt to acknowledge her. Byleth did not at the time think it worthwhile to attempt to disabuse her of that particular notion. If it motivated her, he figured, then it would allow her to keep fighting. Regardless though, that drive to fight would not by itself allow the spirited by untrained girl to best him. Byleth had been taught by Jeralt Eisner, _the Blade Breaker,_ himself (Byleth still thought the name was very silly), and had spent his entire life in the company of sellswords. Leonie had been taught by no-one, and had spent her entire life in the company of distinctly-not-sellswords. Worse still, Leonie was evidently still sharp enough to pick up on when Byleth attempted to change things up for, in his opinion, her benefit. Having made it very clear that she would not tolerate Byleth "going easy on [her]," the first two and a half dozen bouts served only to establish what a considerable gap existed between the two of them. Most of the "bouts" barely lasted more than a few swings of his sword, though to her credit, it gradually took longer and longer for him to force her to yield. 

Not helping things had been the throne girl's incessant need to speak throughout. After the first few trades, the commentary had shifted to a markedly more dismissive tone, and try as he might, Byleth could not but help but accidentally letting slip a disparaging comment here and there. He made a mental note to somehow get back at the Throne Girl later. Doing his best to seem apologetic, what had actually appeared on his face was something closer to patronizing. Admirable as he might've found the fact that Leonie seemed to take it all in stride rather than get discouraged by it, the gradually increasing redness of her face and irritation in her voice spoke to her mounting frustration. Though her resolve had not wavered, her focus had considerably, by the time the girl can grow no more irate, all her progress seemed to have vanished, and once more did each "bout" return to not lasting any longer than a few seconds at most.

After dozens upon dozens of consecutive losses, Byleth puts an end to their "training session." The setting sun had rendered it far too dark to continue, making both the swordsmen, as well as one of their reddened faces, shrouded from view. His "trainee," however, still found it within her to protest the decision. Her mood, having soured after being unable to score a single victory, prompts Byleth to say something, and he very quickly learns that "you almost got me that one time" were not the words that were going to improve her mood. Surprisingly though, the girl's anger seemed to be mostly self-directed. It seemed that his mismatch of expression and speech had (mostly) not given the girl cause to dislike or hate him, and for that Byleth was quietly glad, and for feeling that, he felt ashamed. Tomorrow, it would be best if he handed her back to Jeralt. 

"You know," Leonie began, her frustration dissipating slowly, "You're not a very good teacher."

Reflecting upon the afternoon, Byleth realized that aside from his (accidental) rude comments, he had not provided anything in the way of useful feedback. 

"You're right. I'm sorry," and perhaps hoping that a bit of levity would lighten the mood, he offered: "I certainly won't try to pursue it as a career."

* * *

The next morning, the Throne Girl remained oddly tight-lipped. Although she was wont to harangue him for anything she deemed to be slovenly or unbecoming, which in Byleth's opinion had far too broad a definition in her mind, he found that his mornings felt oddly dull without her usual running commentary. For her outbursts, Byleth had thought he might concoct some sort of scheme in which he would do perfectly normal things in a manner that would annoy her and only her, but any playfully vindicitive feelings were replaced with ones of concern. He hoped that he hadn't offended her in some way. Figuring that it must've been something he did, Byleth resolved himself to apologize to her later.  
  
On the topic of apologies, Byleth's continued apology to the Leonie girl came in the form of re-delegating the responsibility for Pinelli back to Jeralt. She seemed delighted, and in her excitement failed to notice the reluctant (and rather exaggerated) sigh that gave Byleth the impression that his father was deflating. Doing his best to try to indicate to the girl that he was not a good teacher and that "Mercenary Apprentice" was not a thing without outright discouraging her, Byleth left his father and his new acquaintance secretly glad in the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to mess anything up anymore. By incredible coincidence, later that day it was announced that Jeralt's Mercenaries would be bidding Sauin Village goodbye several days sooner than originally scheduled. When he had first heard the news, Byleth felt a bizarre sensation wash over him, as the throne girl who lived in his head attempted to both roll her eyes incredulously and yet also restrain those feelings of incredulity. Despite the odd sensation, Byleth was glad to have her return.

Although he had intended to apologize, The Throne Girl beat him to it, and it seemed she felt as though the unfortunate events of the previous day were her fault. Byleth didn't think it was necessary, but the Throne Girl was insistent, and unusually solemn, so there was nothing to do but to accept her most heartfelt apologies. Not that Byleth had ever blamed her. Sure, their particular blending of sensation and thought had frightened off the odd person now and again, but it wasn't as if either of them had chosen this particular headspace-sharing arrangement. When she apologetically suggested that her influence was the cause of Byleth's lack of any real friends altogether, Byleth had somewhat confusedly replied that she was his friend, wasn't she? He had his father, and he had her. It didn't seem to Byleth that he needed anyone else.

The Throne Girl hadn't replied to that, but the feeling of warmth in his chest and on his face was rather nice.

* * *

_dun, dun-dun, dun, dun-dun, dun, dun-dun, dun, dun-dun, dun, dun-dun_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for retaining the phrase "friend-cum-mother." It tickled me as I wrote this and I couldn't bring myself to choose a better wording.  
> Tenses continue to sound right on first pass then wrong on second but then right again on third. I'll figure it out eventually.  
> It occurs to me that the title would be a valid one in describing a story with the relationship of (Edelgard OR Lysithea) / (Any other Crested Character).  
> I meant for the heartbeat to be like a regular heartbeat alternating with that of a singular pulse from the crest stone. I figured a magical rock wouldn't need to "pump" any blood the mechanical way, just provide a burst of energy to help keep pushing the blood along.   
> Thank you for reading.


	3. Recollections, or lack thereof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Princess Resurrection Chapter Three: Nocturne, featuring some Black Eagles from the Crimson Flower Route of Fire Emblem Three Houses.

Following his remarkably undisciplined outburst at their reunion, Hubert von Vestra had resolved to steel his heart and once again execute the duty assigned to him with all the dignity and propriety expected of his station. This, as it turned out, was a remarkably easier task than anticipated, at least physically speaking. Lady Edelgard dutifully abided by the daily schedule that had been provided for her, receiving her tutors without complaint and displaying a clockwork punctuality that earned her praise she seemed unable to appreciate. Whenever she had completed all that her tutors or uncle had assigned to her, Lady Edelgard appeared to be content to spend the remainder of that day simply sitting idly in her room and to unmovingly gaze upon the wall for hours, only shifting once it was time to prepare for bed. 

Hubert had, at first, wanted to believe that Lady Edelgard was simply having a bit of difficulty re-adjusting to a life she had been asbent from for what amount to a third of her life. He thought that perhaps she had acclimatized a little too well to Faerghus. He thought that perhaps the fact she remained silent unless prompted to respond was a sign that she missed the friends she had no doubt made. He thought that perhaps at the end of her long days that Lady Edelgard wished to be alone with her thoughts. 

Unfortunately for Hubert's heart, he was no fool, and his need (and selfish desire that he would chastise himself for having) for his Lady Edelgard to actually just be "fine" was superceded by his duty to ensure that she was. It was apparent that Lady Edelgard wanted for nothing, but the quality that made some servants describe her as "low maintenance" was a quality that deeply troubled the young Vestra. Lady Edelgard of Hubert's recollection was a girl who delighted in her ability to dodge both her obligations and the scoldings that were supposed to follow, a girl who wanted - no - needed to be doted upon and showered with affection by her siblings, and a girl who loved to love and be loved. The Lady Edelgard who had been returned to Enbarr asked for nothing, had opinions about nothing, and did nothing save for what was explicitly and exactly instructed. Where light had once upon a time seemed to dance were now merely a pair of pale glassy orbs that betrayed none of her thoughts, for there was little to be betrayed. Lady Edelgard may returned home, but not intact.

Hubert promised, to her, to himself, and to the children they once were, that he would do all that was in his power to do to help her. He swore an oath once more, that he was hers, and that it was to her happiness that his life's purpose was forfeit to. He knew that none of that required reaffirming, for in his heart of hearts he knew that no matter how Lady Edelgard changed, he never would.

* * *

Lofty and sincere as his promises had been, the actual method by which he would achieve any of it still remained to be determined. Hubert figured that he would start with that which was simplest. A small part of him still (and selfishly, he reminded himself) thought that this might be something Lady Edelgard could be "snapped out" of, and so a slew of "reminders of home" were arranged. Given his position as her retainer, he was afforded a great deal of leeway when it came arranging her day-to-day. Even more so when he gave his directives in the form of her requests. Since it was to her benefit, Hubert reasoned that it wasn't *technically* untrue, and that when Lady Edelgard was once again capable of caring about such things, he would offer his profuse apologies. 

The first of such reminders took the form of grandiose feast for one. A dozen of Lady Edelgard's favourite dishes, prepared *exactly* the way she liked them, followed by a selection of the deserts Lady Edelgard most enjoyed "borrowing" (or asking Hubert to purloin) from the kitchens. Seeing Lady Edelgard thoroughly clean her plates, Hubert had initially thought this particular avenue attack to be a promising one, noting that in the future he would have to better control her portions. He was soon disabused of that notion when he noticed that she devoured every single dish, every single meal. The current Lady Edelgard obeyed directions given to her with exacting precision, and had apparently come to understand mealtimes to be a directive to eat all that which was presented to her. With a slight pang of guilt, Hubert had experimentally altered the composition of some of her meals. As the girl who once had a habit individually picking peas out of her food proceeded wordlessly and expressionlessly reduce a plate of barely-seasoned turnips to nothingness, Hubert realized that it was entirely possible, or perhaps even likely, that Lady Edelgard no longer possessed any sense of taste. 

The reminders that followed served only to further establish that this was not the way he was going to reach her, and Hubert sadly resigned himself to the reality that he was not going to be able so easily reclaim the Lady Edelgard of his memories. When he presented to her a new stuffed animal (a large bear, dressed to resemble some sort of princely individual), she politely received the gift, but asked what she was to do with it. Hubert, not being well versed in handling of plush, suggested that she hug it, to which she proceeded to mechanically hold it in her embrace and ask how long she was to hold the bear. The fact that her unfailing obedience apparently extended to him unnerved Hubert to no end. It just didn't seem right. 

When he arranged for to have a day free from tutors and homework as a surprise break, she proceeded to make her way back to her room and sit in the eerie, statue-like fashion that was quickly becoming the norm. She would have continued, had Hubert not suggested that they make their way to the palace's library. Upon their arrival, Lady Edelgard had asked Hubert why they were there. Doing his best to merely suggest (rather than direct) that since they were in a library, the most likely activity would be to read. To Hubert's great surprise, this prompted an additional question: "What for?" 

Once again attempting to merely suggest that one could read in the Library for purposes both educational or entertainment, Lady Edelgard continued to surprise him by wordlessly walking off, only returning to ask him, *to actually ask him*, to reach for books beyond her reach. Taking far more pleasure in following her order-that-wasn't-really-an-order than he figured he ought to have, he delibered into her hands a number of thick, dusty old tomes regarding the foundation of Adrestria and the nature of crests. Educational, Hubert figured, but still nevertheless hoped that just maybe, the current Edelgard found ancient history and esoteric blood magic to be highly amusing. Taking a break only to have lunch (spending precisely an hour of the allotted time to do so), Lady Edelgard proceeded to spend the remainder of the day poring through what many would consider to be the driest texts ever collected. Sitting across from her, Hubert attempted to pass the time reading something himself, but found that he could barely focus for all the checking he was doing to make sure that Lady Edelgard remained all right, and somehow managed to have a book open for hours without absorbing any information. 

Before they turned in for the night, and as Hubert walked his Lady back to her room, he asked of her, "Did you find that Educational?"

To which she replied, flatly, "Yes."

"Entertaining?" he continued, feeling just a little bit ridiculous as he thought back on the nature of the books she had all somehow gotten through in a single sitting. To Hubert's surprise, Lady Edelgard stopped dead in her tracks, and her eyebrows every so slightly came just a little bit closer together, as her retainer's proceeded to shoot upwards. 

Still too surprised by her first display of any emotion whatsoever since her return, Hubert was unable to respond before she stated simply, "I don't know."

"I don't know" was not too rare of a response, but the confusion, the consideration... Was getting excited over the tiniest expression of doubt, the most infinitesimally small suggestion that she might have possibly displayed a like for something, just a little bit ridiculous? Absolutely, but it was to Hubert's mind progress. The most vanishingly minute of all possible steps in the right direction, yet still it was nevertheless progress. It was still hope, and it was perhaps that Hubert needed the most.

* * *

Hubert reminded himself that this was his own idea, and thus, his own fault. Hubert also reminded himself that this was for Lady Edelgard's sake, and that for her, he could endure anything. Finally, Hubert reminded himself that although the boy's father was a reprehensible villain, Ferdinand von Aeger was not his father, and therefore undeserving of the same ire. Hubert reminded himself of these facts in the hopes that it would bring him calm, but Prime Minister's son was proving to be impossible to tolerate.

Having heard of the princess' return to the palace, it seemed that the younger von Aegir had come to make reintroductions. Years ago, Hubert and Lady Edelgard had been acquainted with Ferdinand as an infrequent visitor to the palace. Loudmouthed and obnoxious as he had been back then, Lady Edelgard had evidently been rather amused by his antics where Hubert had been annoyed. With his return, Hubert had thought he could stomach more of the boy (who evidently remained unchanged by the passing of time) if it meant there was a chance it could help Lady Edelgard. The young Lady Edelgard had been overjoyed to make a new friend with which to play knights. The younger Hubert had thought the young Ferdinand von Aegir far too stupid to consider, though for Lady Edelgard's sake, he did not protest when she roped the two of them into whatever games she had concocted. 

It was for this reason that he now watched as Ferdinand von Aegir and Lady Edelgard von Hresvelg prepare to spar with training weapons. Specifically, it was for this reason why he allowed von Aegir to duel Lady Edelgard and why he did not step in and take the opportunity to personally shut him up. Once, von Aegir and Lady Edelgard had dueled with sticks in the garden, with Hubert having been made to play the role of kidnapped princess at Lady Edelgard's insistence. He sought to recreate the experience, though for his own pride, declined to remind either of the duelists of his original role in the scene. If the restoration of Lady Edelgard's memories was ultimately predicated upon the realization that Hubert was once made to be the stand-in for a beautiful damsel in distress, then Hubert would apologize for the deception, and plead his Lady's forgiveness. 

von Aegir had chosen a spear, but Lady Edelgard had chosen an axe. Hubert did not know if she had been taught specifically to use an axe, or if the choice was yet another infinitesimally small suggestion that she might have possibly displayed a preference, but he hoped with all his heart that it was the latter. Hubert would have spent more time being optimistic about a wooden training axe, had von Aegir's loud proclamation of his name followed by intent to strike down Lady Edelgard reminded him that he was far too annoyed to be pleased. 

It was with the most intense schadenfreude that Hubert watched the duel, and with the most utter disappointment that he knew that Lady Edelgard was not the sort to toy with an opponent. As von Aegir lunged forwards, Lady Edelgard had slammed her axe down upon the haft of the spear with such speed and force that it shattered both training weapons, and before von Aegir could respond to their mutual disarmament, Lady Edelgard had dropped the splintered remains of her weapon and punched him in the side. von Aegir seemed to be lifted off the ground by the force of the impact, and fell to the ground a short distance away, pushed back by a strength Hubert had no idea Lady Edelgard apparently possessed. Seeing that Lady Edelgard was moving to attend to her vanquished opponent, Hubert set off to fetch a healer.

* * *

As Ferdinand von Aegir lay groaning on the ground, Edelgard knelt beside him, hands feeling at the area where she struck him. At first, she thought she had accidentally killed him, given the rather limp way he collapse to the ground. Normally, she would be sparring with Ladislava, and Ladislava had always wore armour after their first training session, in which Edelgard had smashed both of their training swords by simply swinging too hard. 

"I am sorry. I forgot that you were not wearing armour. I had not meant to strike you with that much force."

With all the air in his lungs forcibly evacuated by the impact, Ferdinand only manages to say "It only took you one blow..." in a breathy wheeze. He is, at this point, far too flabbergasted to wonder why the princess would assume he was wearing armour at all. 

Feeling the spot at where she punched him, Edelgard feels a warm softness where she does not believe there ought to be one.

"Ferdinand von Aegir, I apologize again, I think I have broken your ribs."

She uses his full name, because he uses his full name often, so she believes that he prefers it that way. She apologizes, because she has been told that she must when she does something wrong or hurtful. She is not sure why, but she thinks hurting Ferdinand von Aegir is wrong. 

"After I am healed," Ferdinand von Aegir begins, his voice still rather breathless, "We must have another match!"

She is confused by his behaviour. She has just broken a number of his ribs, but even as he lies on the ground, wincing in pain, he is smiling at her. This is the opposite of what she has been told would happen. She does not remember striking his head, but now she is concerned that she might have. Regardless, she has accidentally used far more strength than she is supposed to. Uncle warned her about this. Uncle has warned her against doing very many things. Such as failing to refer to him as 'Uncle.' If she disobeys Uncle... she does not want to think about what punishments Uncle is capable of.

Very quietly, she asks her wounded opponent, "Ferdinand von Aegir, please do not tell anyone how I injured you."

Ferdinand von Aegir regards her with a slightly confused expression, but can see the hint of pleading in her eyes that Edelgard herself is unaware of. 

When Hubert von Vestra returns with a healer, he only hears von Aegir attribute his broken ribs to "an awkward fall" and not to the strike delivered to him by Lady Edelgard. 

"Prideful fool," Hubert thinks to himself.

* * *

It is a dreary, downcast day in the Red Wolf Moon of 1175 when a carriage carrying a special passenger arrives at the gates of the palace at Enbarr. It is only just cold enough for the first snows to fall, yet warm enough for the rain to soak Adrestria one last time for the year. The snow turns to slush, and the roads turn to a slick, icy mud. A cold damp moisture permeates every crack in every building, to say nothing of a flimsy wooden carriage. There are men who vanish in this weather who won't be found until they thaw. "My father died fighting for *this*," the passenger thinks. She had once been told that the Palace was abuzz with the life of the Imperial Family, but all she finds is silent hollow, headed by a dying Emperor with sunken eyes and a deathly pallor, and occupied by a silent ghost and her shadow. It is an inauspicious day in the Red Wolf Moon of 1175 when Petra Macneary, Princess of Brigid, meets the home she has never wanted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does the last little bit seem out of place? I wanted to include it but I'm not sure if it was proper in terms of structure or pacing.   
> The Fire Emblem wikia lists Macneary as deriving from O hInneirghe, but that doesn't seem right. That's O Hinnerie, or O Hennery, or O Henry. Surely it'd be Mac Naradhaigh, which is MacNarry, Manary, or Macneary. But I don't speak Irish Gaelic, so I dunno.  
> I didn't tag Leonie from last chapter, and I don't know if I ought to tag Ferdinand or Petra this chapter. I just hate the idea of a cluttered tag soup, you know?   
> Thanks for reading.


	4. Ferdinand Prods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand gets to know Edelgard better.

Somehow, Ferdinand von Aegir had become something of a permanent fixture in the palace. Edelgard didn't mind his presence, though it was apparent the von Aegir boy had taken her placid acceptance of him that she extended to just about most things as in some way being her approval. This, in turn, rather befouled Hubert's attitude, who took every opportunity to whisper the most disparaging comments into his Lady's ear whenever he thought the boy was out of earshot. Privately, however, Hubert realized that the von Aegir boy was about the closest thing to a friend that his Lady Edelgard had managed make since returning. Therefore, suggesting that she dismiss him was entirely out of the question, but letting her know that he thought of him as an inept lout was fine. Edelgard on the other hand, after Ferdinand had so unquestioningly and unhesitatingly obliged her of her request, found the boy to be a reliable, trustworthy sort. Quite loud, to be sure, but it meant that his presence was always announced, and Edelgard realized she appreciated the lack of surprises. She also found that Hubert often took time to tell her about him. From what she had gathered from half-heard conversations of gossiping servants who had forgotten that she was there, someone speaking a great deal about another was a sign of affection and adoration. With that in mind, Edelgard decided it was a good thing that her ever loyal shadow had made what she assumed was a friend.

* * *

Thus, without ever discussing the matter, The Princess and her omnipresent Shadow accidentally came to a mutual approval of Ferdinand von Aegir. If Ferdinand had noticed the blunting of Hubert's barbs, or Edelgard's shift from merely acknowledging his presence to anticipating it, he didn't let it show. Ferdinand was Asking his father to slightly alter the Princess' schedule had been simple enough, and how could he have refused such ironclad logic such as Ferdinand's? Obviously, if he were to become the Prime Minister one day, then it would be of the utmost importance that he and his future Emperor should grow accustomed to working together, and what better way to become appraised of how he might better serve the Emperor-to-be and his nation than to spend as much time as possible with her? 

That of course had been Ferdinand's intentions. Well meaning and slightly naïve, as many of the young von Aegir's ideas tended to be. Taking lessons, sparring, and spending free time together, none of that had been absent from his new schedule, but all of it seemed to lack the impact he had hoped it would have. Of course, he hadn't expected the princess to turn to him all of a sudden one day and announce that she, Princess Edelgard von Hrsevelg, heir to the throne of Adrestria, found him, Ferdinand von Aegir, to be a most suitable future prime minister, and that it was her pride and privilege to expect to work along side him one day. Of course he hadn't expected that, save perhaps for in his most private fantasies, but he had at least expected the heiress to at least acknowledge him on some level more than just acknowledging when he happened to be in the same room as her. Sure, Hubert had stopped verbally harassing him (as much as before) and Edelgard had stopping staring at him as if somehow alarmed by his being there, but it was also true that Hubert did not harass and Edelgard did not stare fixatedly at coat stands. 

Not to be discouraged, however, Ferdinand figured that all this really meant was that he would have to put more work in. Privately, though, based on what he had observed of the Adrestrian princess, it seemed far beyond the realm of possibility that he would ever receive his fantasized heartfelt declaration of approval. 

* * *

It seemed that no expense was spared for when it came to the young princess' education. Ferdinand had only sat in on a few of her lessons, but it was easily apparent that for the future emperor, only the cream of the crop would do. An impressive array of academics had been procured for her. Some were wizened old white-haired elders lured out of retirement by a supremely cushy job posting, while others were promising young "rising stars" enticed by the prestige of the posting, but all were massively overqualified to be mere tutors. The best minds of Adrestria, perhaps even Fodlan, had been brought to the palace with the express purpose of enriching the mind of a single individual. A shame, Ferdinand thought, that such an education would be so exclusively reserved for a class so small. If Edelgard's siblings were still around, then at least it could be said that the next generation of the entire imperial line was being educated, but now what should have been a dozen had been reduced to merely Edelgard and now also himself. So it was with a mild amount of consternation with which Ferdinand watched his liege-to-be engage with her lessons with the same rapt attention one might pay to the drying of an especially un-exhilarating wall of wet paint. Did she not understand or appreciate the opportunity that was presented to her? 

Not that Edelgard was a bad student by any means. Dates, figures, events, Ferdinand noted that she displayed an excellent recall for all that which was asked of her, but only just that. Word for word she could recite whole pages of text if she had been instructed to "learn" about a subject, but Ferdinand saw rote memorization, not comprehension; acknowledgement, not understanding. This, obviously, would not do. A future emperor would have to do more than simply pass tests. Fortunately, the future emperor had her future prime minister at her side, and he was more than happy to assist her in this matter. First though, he would have to gauge where she was at. 

* * *

It had been a rather dry lesson. One of the older tutors, a man so old and frail it Ferdinand suspected might have simply lived the last thousand years instead of studied it as he so claimed, had finished a lesson on the final months of the War of the Eagle and Lion. Therein lay an opportunity. The lesson still fresh in their minds, there was no better time to try and get an appraisal of her progress. King Loog of Faerghus, famed across the land, a man so steeped in legend that despite the mere centuries that separated him from the now, he seemed as mythical as his ancestor Blaiddyd. What better way to get a feel for where the princess' mind lay than to see how the future sovereign judged another?

"Edelgard," he had interrupted, earning himself a positively venomous glare from her retainer "Might I take a moment of your time?" 

She didn't reply, but he took the turning of her head to meet his gaze to mean that he was permitted to continue. 

"What do you think of Loog?" 

"I have no particular opinions on the man."

"I meant, as a king and a leader, how would you describe Loog?"

"Loog of Blaiddyd, also known by the epithet 'The King of Lions', was the first king of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, following his uprising against the-"

Word for word, as printed in the text. Ferdinand didn't need her to continue. He knew that Edelgard had read the entirety of the chapter and could easily and quite possibly would regurgitate it in its entirety verbatim, but what he wanted to know was if she had gleaned any insights from the experience. Interrupting her again, which caused Hubert's glare to go from merely venomous to suggesting that a throttling might be in his near future, Ferdinand tried another angle.

"Do you think Loog's successes mean that he was a good leader?"

"I am only familiar with his actions during the War of the Eagle and Lion"

"Then do you think Loog's successes indicate that he was a competent strategist and tactician?"

"Loog attributed a number of his successes to his advisor Pan, of which the record does not describe in much detail. It is not possible to know to what extent Loog's abilities were the result of Pan's council."

Pan. Loog's dear friend and utterly devoted servant. The so-called undesiring strategist. Ferdinand had once idly fancied himself as playing the role of Pan to Edelgard's Loog, though that had been prior to actually meeting her. Brushing aside the idle musings though, he continued to press her.

"Then, do you think Loog, whether it be by his own ability or by the counsel of his advisors or some combination thereof, is deserving of his reputation as being a brilliant general?"

Edelgard did not reply immediately. Had he not been standing so close, with her staring directly at him, he wouldn't have noticed, but from here, he could see that her normally blank, perpetually indifferent eyes, had narrowed ever so slightly. She continued to stare at Ferdinand for some time, wearing that expression that he supposed counted as being utterly lost in thought. As the silence slowly made its way from intense to merely uncomfortable, she finally spoke again. 

"I believe Loog was an acceptable leader." Edelgard concluded after considering the question. After such a pregnant pause, that was not the answer Ferdinand had hoped for, given how neutral and unopinionated it was, but before he could comment Edelgard continued, "I believe the rebellion's success is more due to Lycaon VI's ineptitude."

Now _that_ was unexpected. Even the histories compiled by Adrestria focused more on Loog's acts than that of his Adrestrian counterparts'. More than that though, hearing the girl who never provided an opinion on _anything_ suggest that she thought poorly of the centuries-dead emperor was rather akin to to Hubert paying Ferdinand a compliment. He asked her to elaborate, and at every opportunity, he hounded her for more details. The histories seldom delved into Emperor Lycaon VI much, painting him as the hapless Emperor who had the misfortune to reign when the great Loog left his mark on history. In the text, he was scarcely his own person; a man described more in how he responded to Loog than as an Emperor with an identity of his own.

Yet here Edelgard was, describing in detail all his failings, as though any minimally competent Faerghusian leader would have inevitably triumphed against an Adrestria led by Lycaon VI. Loog was the great leader who rallied to his righteous cause the disenfranchised lords of Faerghus, but Edelgard posited that Lycaon more than Loog was what gave those lords pause. Edelgard's thoughts came at a pace that was alternatingly breathless and halting. A minute of uninterrupted thoughts, streaming out, followed by silent pauses and false starts. None of it, Ferdinand realized, had been her *thoughts* so to speak. It was all what she was thinking, in the moment; Conclusion that had been drawn after only being prompted to contemplate the subject. 

She finished by addressing Arianrhod, the fortress city of Rowe. After the war, the empire constructed Arianrhod to secure the new border, and then promptly lost it when Rowe defected to the newly formed Holy Kingdom. The text held that Loog's grand success convinced Rowe, but to Edelgard it was obvious that Lyacon VI's own tunnel vision prevented him from noticing that the people who would populate his new city held him in poor regard. An interesting sentiment Ferdinand thought, given that he rather thought the unemotive, unopinionated, and dispassionate Princess Edelgard might fall victim of similar blindness. Perhaps then, that would be the role he was to play? Clearly she was no simpleton, but if she did not notice her people's discontent, then it would be his duty to be their voice. If she was offered no dissention, then he was to play the advocate to the devil, if for no other reason than to ensure that she would consider all factors, as a good Emperor ought to. If Hubert, her ever faithful ever present shadow, was to care and safeguard her, then perhaps he was to be his counterbalance, to challenge and if necessary, confront her. 

* * *

When it came to lessons more physical, it seemed that Edelgard required no prompting. Having learned their lessons from their first go at it, both of Adrestria's future head-of-states took to their matches with a great deal more care. For Ferdinand, this meant not underestimating the smaller girl's preternatural speed and strength, and for Edelgard, this meant not accidentally shattering every bone in Ferdinand's body. Fortunately for them both, Ferdinand's skeletal integrity was seldom in peril, though every time it was, Hubert's day improved ever so slightly.

Ferdinand regarded himself as being a rather quick study, and never before had that notion been so exhaustively tested than in his attempts to best Edelgard in melee combat. While Ferdinand had to *think* about how to attack, Edelgard just seemed to *do*. If Ferdinand swept her legs, she would already be out of range but the time he brought it around. If he thrust forwards, then she'd stamp down on his spear. Once, he thought that swapping out his lance for an axe might throw her off balance enough to score a victory. That had earned him a thrown axe to the face and a comical-looking bruise between the eyes. If nothing else, Ferdinand figured then at least he'd never be caught off guard by that trick again. Edelgard might not have been the most encouraging of sparring partners given the way she would mutely destroy Ferdinand in every bout, but he was at least comforted by the knowledge that she seemed to respect his abilities enough to never try any dirty tricks more than once. She recognized that she'd never be nail him between the eyes with an axe again; she recognized that if she tried to ever drop her axe, rush in, and wrench his lance from his hands a second time, he'd be prepared enough to punch her; she recognized that the next time she left herself open so that she might headbutt him, that he would not fail to capitalize on the exposure.

At one point, Ferdinand had remarked that she did not fight very honourably. That had earned him a confused blink and a blank stare. Or at least he assumed it was confusion; disgust, at least, was probably beyond her very narrow band of possible emotions. As he gazed into her eyes and tried to read what little expression she had, he wondered if Edelgard was lost in thought, analyzing the statement with far more thought than he had put into it, or if she had no thoughts whatsoever, and was patiently waiting for him to specify more parameters. As the pause rolled into its sixtieth second and the silence grew ever more awkward, Ferdinand decided to rephrase the observation.

"What I mean to say is that you do not fight the way that most nobles do. Your footwork excellent, and your technique is superlative. It is clear that you have been trained by the best, but you do not fight in a conventional manner."

"I intend to win," Edelgard replied, almost immediately, apparently with the expectation that those 4 words sufficiently explained it all. 

"And you cannot do so by fighting conventionally?"

"It is easier to win if I do not."

"If you would humor me then, for our next match, please fight me the way you were trained to."

* * *

Ferdinand didn't know why it surprised him. If anything he should've exactly expected this, and yet he still managed to find himself caught off guard by witnessing exactly what he asked for. No tricks, no unusual feints, not a shred of individuality in Edelgard's fighting style. Well practised, exact footwork to be expected from repeated drills. Techniques copied move for move from instructors without variance. Fighting this was like fighting a illustrations from a combat manual brought to life. Fighting this was entirely predictable. 

Not that it made things any easier on him. That her new "style" was entirely transparent was evidently obvious to Edelgard as well, and so she compensated for that with the unusual potency of her body. Ferdinand knew beat for beat every step of her dance, but her tempo proved to be in excess of what he was comfortable with. He knew her axe would come from the left and he knew that she was aiming for his neck, and yet this foreknowledge was not a weapon to be used by him. He could block every strike, and for that, Edelgard punished his every parry by putting her all into every swing. With every impact upon his lance he could feel a shockwave travel up the haft and into his limbs, rattling his bones from the inside. And here he had so naively thought he had secured his skeletal integrity. 

He could hear the strain of wood after every impact. The sound of cracks and splintering, of wooden sinew fraying under the pressure. With one last meeting of wooden blades, his lance simply shattered at the impact point. Dulled wooden weapons do not slice, and so where a blunted axe met wooden haft, the polearm was not severed of its head with a cut, but with a pulverization. 

And yet with that, Edelgard took a step back, and apologized.

"It is my loss." She told a rather confused Ferdinand. "You are victorious."

"Bu- I- What? I do not understand." 

"You instructed me to fight you as I was trained to. I was not supposed to destroy your weapon."

His first victory, Ferdinand mused. Not that he would ever count it as one. If anything, he agreed with Hubert, who was busying himself with informing his lady with why in actuality, the match went to her. In the future, he would have to be more specific in regards to what was permitted. Perhaps it was an odd thought to have about one's liege, to intend to instruct rather than intend to be ordered by, but Edelgard was by all description an odd person. Ferdinand supposed he ought to be grateful he did not ask her to come at him with all that she had; She might very well have killed him in that case.

Still, it was odd that her killing him merely by accident was even a concern. The princess was by all appearances a fairly small, rather sickly-looking girl. Her peculiar mannerisms and strange literal mindedness he figured could be a coping mechanism, that perhaps the younger girl was dealing with the abrupt loss of most of her family by simply closing off her mind from even considering it. It was not a subject he ever imagined he would ever broach with her, but that would still not explain how a girl almost a full head shorter than himself could be possessed of such a strength that could so easily imperil his bones. He knew she bore the Crest of Seiros, but surely a crest alone wouldn't impart upon a person such exaggerated capabilities? Perhaps there was something about the Imperial family that he was as of yet unaware of.

Perhaps he ought to ask his father?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand: 危  
> Edelgard: ↑ + ○
> 
> So I meant to have Petra but I got, uh, distracted, I guess. Certainly makes for some odd pacing. Might go back and mess with things. Might not. Who knows!
> 
> Anyhow, hope it reads well, and thank you for doing so.


End file.
